The Author (Chapter 2)

As he was crossing the room, he stepped on the tail end of his beard-which reached the floor-and went crashing against the wall, head first. One of the paintings fell from it’s hinge and crashed to the floor. He stumbled to his feet and turned back toward Emmett, red faced and rubbing his noggin.

"Get up boy!" the old man hooted. "That seat isn’t waterproof!"

Emmett realized that the man was speaking of his wet jeans, and he quickly jumped up, feeling embarrassed about having peed his pants. The old man noticed his embarrassment and offered some comforting words.

"Oh, it’s nothing to be ashamed of my boy. It happens to the best of us," he said, pointing at the crotch of his pants.

And to Emmett’s surprise, the old man was in the process of wetting himself. He was dressed in some seventies style clothing; a silk purple shirt and some chocolate brown bellbottoms, that, to Emmett’s unmasked shock, he was currently relieving himself in. Emmett nearly choked at the sight of it, but the old man acted as if this were commonplace. He simply wandered back to his desk and continued his introduction.

"So, back to business. My name is Hectordale Simonous Clarington Olsworthe the seventh. But everyone calls me Ralph. What’s your name?"

"Where am I?" asked Emmett.

"We’ll get to all that a little later. Let’s start with introductions. It’s proper manners you know. So what do they call you?"

Emmett didn’t answer.

"If you don’t have a name I can make one up for you. I’m very good at it you know. How about Ferdinand? That would be-"

"It’s Emmett," he quickly interrupted. Ferdinand?

"Emmett, huh? That’s a silly name. But don’t worry yourself. It’s not the name that counts. It’s the person that it’s attached to that really makes the difference," he said, sounding most philosophical.

"So . . . where am I?" Emmett asked again.

"You are in my office, the checkpoint between worlds." He threw his skinny arms into the air for the sake of drama.

"What are you talking about?" said Emmett. He shook his head and eyed the old man levelly. "You’re not making any sense here."

Ralph sighed. He propped his elbows on the desktop, steepled his finger beneath his chin, and began to explain. "Like I said, you are in the checkpoint between worlds. There is more to life than just what you see, my boy. Take the universe for example. People in your world believe that there are only nine planets in orbit, but in fact, there are eighteen. Your people have only found half of the universe, my boy. Like every coin, the universe has two sides," he said, raising three fingers in illustration. "And you, my friend, have just found the other side. Something that all those fancy-pants scientists never discovered."

"But why did I all of the-"

"You have come here," Ralph interrupted, "because you no longer had anything to live for in your world. That’s why the puddle appeared for you."

"How did you know what I was going to ask?"

Ralph shrugged. "Everyone asks that." He shook his head. "But as I was saying, the gateway between worlds-that would be the puddle-was opened so that you could have another chance. The only way to cross between worlds is for you to leave everything behind without any regrets. You must have nothing holding you back. Most people, no matter how miserable they think they are, still have something they cling to. Be it a family member, or their job, or some distant hope, or whatever . . . there’s always something holding them back, or should I say, keeping them there. But you my friend are of the elite few who actually had absolutely nothing to live for."